


Link

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snippet of it going wrong after the ring showed up on Hikaru’s finger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Link

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Basically a quick fix-it for my prior Chulu headcanons. Be warned, this is another one I wrote on my phone when I was supposed to be doing other things, so the flow might be a little off.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The first chance they get alone when it’s all over is just one long embrace, Pavel forgetting everything they fought about and rushing over with wide arms, sure Hikaru’s as damaged as he is but unable to hold back. Even for all they went through, Hikaru’s strong against him. Sturdy as duranium. Pavel envelops Hikaru and crushes them together, face digging into the side of his just to _breathe in_. Hikaru smells like burnt fibers and sweat-matted cologne, but Pavel still eagerly leans into it.

Hikaru rubs the small of Pavel’s back and murmurs, “I’m sorry.” Pavel’s sorry. But then reality comes crashing down and they have wounds to heal, reports to give, a party to get to. And Hikaru has other people’s arms to fall into.

Pavel watches him go, number from that than the bruises, and slinks off to ask Scotty when they should start working on new engines. The old ones are long gone, and Pavel tries not to think of them.

Pavel tries to think _they’re alive_. He’s happy to change into casual clothes for Kirk’s birthday, to go down to smiling faces he thought he’d never see again— _Hikaru worst of all_ —to soak in how much his captain notices him. How much they did together. Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock did so much, of course, but for once, Pavel was in the thick of things, nearly as instrumental to salvation. He rides that high and, when he sees Hikaru in the corner discretely taking a call, flirts at the first chance he gets, with the being who looks the least like Hikaru he can find. He flirts too much, Hikaru said, but his captain grins at him for it, and Hikaru crossed the line so much farther.

Hikaru doesn’t say anything when Pavel ushers the woman into an empty booth. Her tongue has an array of tiny spikes along the underside not meant for human mouths, but he kisses her anyway because he can feel Hikaru’s eyes on him. They’re open, apparently, so it’s alright. Or maybe they’re over. The thought freezes him cold, and his company purrs through the universal translator, “Are you okay? Did I cut you?”

“No,” Pavel assures her, coupling his oncoming lie with a sheepish smile, “I just think I have had too much to drink. Rainche— another time, maybe?” He’s served with Mr. Spock long enough by now that he should know not to use human idioms with aliens. The woman frowns at him, rises from the couch, and disappears into the crowd—there’re plenty of others here to play with.

Pavel stays on his couch, sips his drink, and fights the urge to find Hikaru. They always have fun at parties. Used to. Hikaru always says Pavel’s a goofy dancer, but he never seems to mind being dragged onto the floor. Even better than dancing is sneaking off to the bathroom, but Pavel’s not sure he wants to be taken against a cheap sink when he knows someone else can have Hikaru on their pillow.

He downs his glass and goes off to find someone else to bat his eyelashes at. That’ll be all. He’ll enjoy knowing he _could_ , but he’ll only go home with Hikaru.

An hour later, Mr. Spock informs him Hikaru’s left. Mr. Spock looks, in his stern Vulcan way, confused about why he’s been asked to deliver this news. Pavel knows. He bitterly goes to ask a cute ensign for a lift home but chickens out at the last second and catches a hovertaxi.

There’s technically no night without communication. Pavel ignored a comm the night before the party and he does it again the night after.

In the morning, Hikaru shows up outside his Starfleet-issue apartment and says, “We need to talk.” Pavel knows. Hikaru said the same thing when they first headed for the Yorktown, and then a picture of a little girl showed up on his console, a ring on his finger.

And then something came up Pavel doesn’t even remember, and then they were on an intensive mission, _and then they were horribly apart_. And Pavel hated that too much to pretend he won’t be Hikaru’s sidepiece if he has to. So he nods begrudgingly and grabs a sweater.

They go to the coffee shop in the lobby—nothing special. In a private, two-person booth with cappuccinos on Hikaru’s credit, Hikaru says, “It was a long time ago.”

Several years, judging by the age of the girl, but Pavel’s feeling petulant and mutters, “The ring isn’t.”

“It’s just a ring.”

“How can you say that?”

“To me, it’s just a ring. To her, it means we’re still family.” Hikaru says it dead serious, tone level in his commander voice—something Pavel used to love—but now Pavel just buries himself in the foam of his coffee and bitterly hopes he winds up charging Hikaru for another. Hikaru continues, “We’re not together, Pavel, not like that, and we haven’t been in years. ...But they’re always going to be a huge part of my life, and for you to be another part, you need to accept that.”

“You’re scolding _me_?” Pavel grumbles, half incredulous. Hikaru doesn’t look like he’s joking.

“You’re worse than Kirk sometimes.”

“It’s never serious. I never wear anyone’s ring.”

Hikaru meets Pavel’s glare for a minute, then rolls his eyes and slips the gold band off his finger. Stuffing it back into his pocket, he sighs, “If it bothers you that much, I won’t wear it with you. But I’m still going to wear it on this station. And you’re just going to have to trust me that it’s a symbol of something that’s no threat to you.”

Pavel wants to ask if Hikaru’s even legally divorced but stops when he realizes he doesn’t want to know the answer. It might be the wrong one. He leans back in his seat, folding his arms and looking at nothing but his drink. Hikaru sighs again.

He softens and reaches his hand across the table. When Pavel doesn’t take it, Hikaru leaves it there invitingly and says, more gently, “Look, Pavel, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you a lot sooner. Before we came here even, but you’re young, and I wasn’t sure how you’d feel at first about me being a father. You know there hasn’t been a good time lately. But I was going to, and to be honest, I was looking forward to you meeting them. They’re still my family. But _you’re_ the one I want to be with now. The one I _am_ with. And you should know that what we have, when we’re up their traipsing all over the universe together, is more important than a ring.”

Pavel does know. He still feels slighted. But Hikaru’s hand just sits there, waiting for him, and it doesn’t feel _right_ to be confined to two separate bodies when they could be connected.

He slips his fingers into Hikaru’s and relishes the little squeeze he’s given. Hikaru graces him with a proud smile. Pavel mumbles stubbornly, “I know you love me.”

“I do,” Hikaru says, squeezing tighter and not asking for the sentiment back. Pavel’s gushed it enough over their time together. In Federation Standard, in Russian, with his eyes, with his fingers on Hikaru’s skin. He thinks of asking when he’ll meet Hikaru’s other family.

He can’t do it yet. He just needs... a night. He puts his other hand over Hikaru’s and half asks, half demands, “You will stay with me now, yes?”

Hikaru just holds him for a moment, which softens the blow when he says, “I’m going to spend as much time with them while I’m here and can. We didn’t leave on bad terms, and that little girl deserves a lot more of me than she’s gotten.” Though Pavel understands, he can’t help his jealous scowl. Hikaru grins like he knows and continues, “But I want you to come for some of it, and regardless, I’ll come home to you every night.”

“You better,” Pavel teases, “or I will tell them the inertial dampener story.”

“Oh,” Hikaru groans, but he brightens for the humour in the threat, “how could I forget what a little devil you are.”

“Hell hath no fury like a Russian scorned.”

Hikaru just shakes his head. But there’s relief on his handsome features, and Pavel feels it too—he hates when they fight.

They spend a moment or two just cheesily eyeing one another, fingers all tangled together, before Pavel chirps, “Make up sex now?”

Hikaru’s on his feet in a heartbeat, collecting their cups and headed for the stairs.


End file.
